A Greater Man:
by Sonicscrewdriversinmiddleearth
Summary: It is the beginning of Thorn's second year as Maktig, and he is invited over to Mikkel's house for dinner. But seeing his best friend married with a wife and child, discourages him to no end. Insecurities worm their way into his heart, and he begins to wonder if Mikkel or Karina still need him in their lives.


**A Great Man:**

It was late when the residents of Hallasholm had settled for the night, the silver moon shrouded in cloudy mists and fogs. Below, strong, freezing winds battered against frames and woodworked doors, whistling sharply from its speed. Somewhere, echoing faintly in the fog covered town, wooden shutters flapped wildly, rhythmically smacking themselves against the windows and walls. But yet, no one could hear it. The loud, sharp sounds that would have been there before were drowned out by the wind. They fell under an endless sea of howling, of the raging storms and wind, and were lost to even the keenest of senses. So, as the night went on and people began to fall asleep, lanterns and candles in every house were extinguished one by one, leaving the cold streets in complete blackness. And the mists advanced.

Soon, the only lights for miles around—at least those that could be seen—were a few small candles. They sat humbly in the windows of a small—though very nice—house. And not one of them, not even the smallest, burned low. In the dark streets, a bolt of lightening struck near the stately cottage, its battened hatches keeping out only some of the blindingly white light. An earth-shattering bang followed after, sending the small house shaking, the impact making the foundations shudder beneath them. However, inside the small house, closed off from danger, cold, and storms; shut in from winds, rain and fog, stood a small group of people.

In a humble, dimly lit kitchen, three figures gathered near a small oak table. All were visibly relaxed despite the circumstances, paying no attention to the rolling thunder. They were the picture of calmness. Out of the three, only one was a young woman, her dark hair once pulled tightly into a bun. However, now it fell loose from the wear of the day and threatened to spill over her shoulders, it's dark color shimmering in the candlelight. Off to the side, and away from the stove, stood two men, chatting softly to one another as they waited. Waited for the meal they had been anticipating since lunch. The two would have normally feasted with Erak on such a time as this, as they were often welcome at the older Skandian's table.

However, Karina had invited Thorn, Maktig of the year, to stay to dinner. Mikkel had naturally seconded the idea, feeling it was about the time they got away from the crowds. The two had then left the bigger feasts and retired to this small, well-kept home. And with Karina's cooking, no one could blame them. The woman could have the whole town here and begging on their knees if she wished. That was a statement, and not one taken lightly. So, naturally, Thorn had excepted the offer. Now rummaging through her cupboards, the maiden continued with her relentless cooking, pouring a small spoon of spices into the large pot. One of the two well-built warriors, shorter and broader in shoulder than his companion, sniffed the air. His nose immediately wrinkled in disgust as he scowled.

"Are you washing Mikkel's clothes or making stew? Because that is not an inviting scent!" Thorn protested teasingly, waving a single hand around his face to ward off the "offending" scent.

The taller warrior's eyes widened and he scowled, his hand shooting backwards and catching his friend in the shoulder. Almost caught off guard, Thorn jumped back, but was not fast enough to avoid his friend's violent action. He laughed when he felt Mikkel's fist collide with his shoulder blade, sending him staggering a few feet. It obviously didn't hurt, being only meant as play, and the fact only made the warrior's grin widen.

"Hmph! With clumsiness like that, I still wonder how you managed to make Maktig," Mikkel retorted teasingly, though his words held a competitive heat to them. It was only yesterday that Thorn had managed to beat him in one of the hardest competitions known to Skandians; and the two still hadn't ceased their teasing. It felt like it would go on for ages. Trying to hold a firm resolve, the taller warrior rubbed a hand over his face in an attempted to hide a smile. The comment was amusing to him, but he did not want to encourage further remark on the subject. He knew at the moment that he was surely lose a battle of wit with his friend, especially if Karina chose to take his side.

Across the kitchen area, said woman looked up from the stew pot, turning her head in their direction. She slowly raised an eyebrow, wondering if their verbal battle would continue. She decided it best not to say anything, for fear of the argument to last until sunrise. It would only encourage a squabble, and in turn, probably wreck her house. So she just smiled, watching fondly as the two argued back and fourth.

If Thorn or Mikkel could become Maktig for just wit alone, they would probably claim the position for eternity, the woman thought dryly, taking a small sip of the soup she had prepared. Suddenly, the ground beneath her feet shuddered again, the booming sound of thunder causing the trio to silence. Thorn looked around uncertainly, watching as white light flashed just outside the house. There hadn't been a storm like this in a while, and even then, it had not been this big. They had been much smaller. As the deafening sound slowly died away, the small room fell silent. A moment later, Karina went peacefully back to her cooking, ignoring the two once more. Mikkel opened up his mouth to speak, but was interrupted. A sharp cry echoed from the back rooms, the sound shrill and sad in tone. It sounded across the room for a full minute, wavering and shuddering the longer it went on. A babies cry. At first, Karina looked up in alarm, eyes going quite wide.

"I just put him to bed," She said softly, laying her wooden ladle down next to the pot. She wiped her hands on her white apron and sighed, unconsciously smoothing out her appearance.

"Wait," Mikkel said easily, placing a strong hand on his wife's shoulder. He made sure she didn't take another step. "I'll go. You stay." The swordsman smiled kindly at her and turned lightly on his heel, walking out of the room. When he was gone, Thorn raised an eyebrow, clearing his throat in the slightest.

"Hal's been keeping you up?" He asked idly, eyes still locked on the spot where Mikkel had disappeared. Karina shrugged and smiled, laughing gently as she continued to stir the contents of the pot.

"It's all worth it," the cook replied, quickly peeking in one of the cabinets, her chef's instinct taking over. For some reason she felt she was missing something. Something important. Like... salt! Waiting patiently behind her, Thorn nodded several times, considering the fact. He knew it was well worth it. Their son was quite the child, and he could already see potential in the boy. So after a moment of silence, the Maktig pivoted easily on his heel, taking a large stride in the direction of the baby's bedroom.

"I'll go see if Mikkel needs help." The Skandian warrior disappeared into the shadows of the hall, vanishing completely as he turned a corner, headed for where he thought the nursery to be. After a moment of searching—for it had been a while since he had last entered the house—he found it. A dark oak door stood ajar, hanging open only slightly. Suddenly feeling as if he was intruding, Thorn hesitated, pursing his lips in uncertainty. As he didn't exactly have a family, this somehow seemed... wrong. How could he help, how could he understand, if he had never experienced it himself? How could he hope to be of use? Mikkel and Karina seemed more than capable of doing it themselves. What if they didn't want his services?

Thorn scoffed bitterly at his mindset, running a hand through his dark hair. He was a Maktig, he was an undefeated warrior, and he was worried about this? He was worried about his best friend's judgement? The warrior sighed and quietly tapped his foot on the wood floor, crossing his arms and looking around in exasperation. Maybe it was the fact that he felt out of place? His best friend had gone off and married, and suddenly they had a child. Responsibility. They had other things to keep them busy. Things of importance. While all the while, he didn't. He had no one he loved, he had no child. At times, it felt as if he didn't have anything in common with them. That he had lost something, something he couldn't quite figure out.

Mentally slapping himself, Thorn quickly shoved the thought away. Why was he so hesitant? Why was he so scared? It was just a baby, and Mikkel would always be his best friend. He didn't need these phantom doubts playing games with his mind. He didn't want them. So rolling his eyes, the Maktig clasped the handle and pushed, the door silently swinging open. What he saw made him freeze.

Mikkel, his usually sly and smug companion, stood solemnly over a small cot. Humble in appearance, and rather simple, the cradle stood on two wooden blades, their intricate design enabling it to rock soothingly back and forth. Thorn stared uncertainly, watching the pair closely.

"Thorn... it's a baby, it won't bite," Mikkel spoke up from the opposite side of the room. He didn't lift his head, and he didn't turn, his voice low and slightly amused. From inside the cot, the Maktig heard a small coo, and his friend seemed to smile lovingly. In a slow—and very hesitant—response, Thorn raised a dark eyebrow, taking a step further into the room. Standing patiently over by the cradle, Mikkel was now gently holding Hal's tiny hand, watching as the smaller being slept peacefully. It didn't take long till Thorn was by his side, peering into the small, wooden box. Suddenly feeling interested—very much so—Thorn leaned in closer to watch the infant, curious to see how he had grown since he had last been there. Seeing his friend's painfully obvious manner, the swordsman grinned, glancing slyly at him. He knew Thorn would never dare to say that he wished to hold him, though he failed at keeping his inquiry secret. It was comical.

"Do you want to hold him?"

"No!" Thorn answered quickly, eyes widening in the slightest, before shrinking back to their own size. Mikkel's grin only grew wider, and he gingerly lifted Hal from the cradle, turning with both eyebrows raised.

"You're sure?"

"Yes." Thorn eyed the small human with unease. What if he dropped it—him? What if he did something wrong? Holding the baby out, Mikkel smile reassuringly.

"You'll do fine, I'll show you." Before the Maktig could place any further complaints, the taller human gently forced the baby into his arms, hands held out to ensure he grasped him firmly. "See, now all you do is support his head and back." Thorn had the sudden urge to run away, or flinch back. But his sudden fear caused him to freeze, staring intensely down at the sleeping infant. In his arms, Hal cooed softly and shifted in the dark-haired mans hold, small eyes sluggishly fluttering open. When the infant saw the strange man above him, he seemed to pause, blinking contemplatively as if studying a strange creature. And suddenly, Thorn relaxed.

"See, was that so bad?" Mikkel asked with a wide grin, watching his best friend's calm air. Thorn didn't dare look up, for fear of suddenly dropping the fragile life in his hands, and simply smiled wryly.

"I bet you were the same way when you first held him," muttered the Maktig quietly, ruefully shaking his dark head as he ventured to glance away. Hal, feeling safe and protected, had simply nodded off into a deep sleep, lying still in the warrior's strong arms. Gasping in feigned hurt, Mikkel looked up, slightly offended, and scoffed.

"I'll have you know I was perfectly calm... I didn't cry at all."

"Liar."

The tall swordsman made to attempt to correct the axeman, but shrugged helplessly. It was one of the rare times the Skandian allowed his friend to get the last word in. And it wouldn't happen again. Thorn let out a small sigh, feeling Mikkelson shift and coo once more. It was time for the little infant to go back to his cot, somewhere where Thorn didn't have the risk of dropping him. So, carefully gliding across the room, and back to the cradle, he lowered the half-blooded boy into the warm bed, smiling thoughtfully. Hal was half Araluen and half Skandian. He would have a tough childhood, and maybe even a difficult youth. He would be different from the other boys, and maybe be somewhat of an outcast. It wouldn't be easy, not by any means. And yet, despite the odds that were set against the small child and despite every worry that clouded his mind when he thought of the boy's future—plus everything that Mikkel and Karina would have to go through—Thorn felt at ease and proud of his friends. There need have been no fear, none at all. The boy would have a great man to raise him.


End file.
